


Sessions

by TiniBopper, Waywren Truesong (waywren)



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Aftercare, Blindfolds, Bondage, Consensual But Not Safe Or Sane, Consensual Consent Weirdness, Consensual Gaslighting, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Donna is a Sub, Dubious Consent, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Hypnosis, Love Bites, Marathon Sex, Mind Manipulation, Mutual Pining, Oral Sex, Orgasm Denial, Other, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn With Plot, Rope Bondage, Sensory Manipulation, Shibari, Subspace, The Doctor (Doctor Who) Uses They/Them Pronouns, The Doctor is a Verse, The TARDIS is a Domme, dom/sub dynamics, idiots to lovers, insufficient kink negotiation, post-hypnotic suggestion
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-28
Updated: 2021-01-28
Packaged: 2021-03-13 17:29:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,303
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29032452
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TiniBopper/pseuds/TiniBopper, https://archiveofourown.org/users/waywren/pseuds/Waywren%20Truesong
Summary: The TARDIS likes to take care of her Thief and her favorites. When you're a sapient, psychic time-ship operating in eleven dimensions with complete control of her internal environment, 'taking care' reaches new definitions.After all, if you let her deep enough into your mind, she can even tell your senses what you're seeing and feeling right in front of you.This can also be useful for matchmaking... if you can be convinced to look the other way.[Not related to the co-authors' other fic(s) in the slightest.]
Relationships: Donna Noble/The Doctor's TARDIS, Tenth Doctor/Donna Noble, Tenth Doctor/The Doctor's TARDIS
Comments: 8
Kudos: 22





	Sessions

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Crimson Ten Delight Petrichor](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11623062) by [geekns](https://archiveofourown.org/users/geekns/pseuds/geekns). 



> *kiss* for the tag wranglers, we luv ya we’re just trolls  
> 
> 
> Hello, everyone. Ready for a wild ride of "two ace people somehow write 12 thousand words of porn with more to come"? Mind the tags, lovelies, this is gonna be intense.

“Doctor, we have to _go_!” Donna grabbed their arm, dragging them a few inches and breaking their frozen, steely seething anger. The adventure of the day had gone wrong in every possible way, from the loss of innocents to the worst cruelty that humanity could offer, culminating in this--

They’d set off a chain reaction that was going to bring the entire building down on top of everyone left inside it. There was still a chance for escape, but it was slim. Slimmer than she ever saw them give. 

Most of the innocent lives were already lost. They couldn’t change that. And the last time she’d seen that _glare_ , that Storm in their eyes, they’d emptied the Thames and killed off an entire invasive species without mercy. 

Throwing her entire weight against them had barely twitched their arm.

But they were stumbling after her, now, and then--accelerating, latching on to her arm and dragging her _after_ them, as if all they’d needed was the momentum to realize they could move, could escape, that she _should_ escape.

She couldn’t stop them from making the decision to bring the building down. She knew that they would hate that, in the end. But she would face that guilt later. _After_ making sure they didn’t both die in the process.

She got her feet under her again and upped her speed until she was matching theirs, swinging around corners and checking her mental map of the building to figure out where the TARDIS was. She even ended up dragging them around a corner they were about to pass by, with a breathless, “This way-- it’s faster!”

They didn’t fight her, at least. They didn’t speak a word, barely nodded, just followed.

It wasn’t until they’d thrown themself into the TARDIS that she let herself gasp for breath, while they hurried to the console and threw them both back into the Vortex. She panted for air in the doorway, holding onto the wall to keep from falling over, while the echoing chaos of the building collapsing echoed outside the door… and then faded into a cold, brutal silence.

Once she got a small semblance of her breath back, she looked up at where they’d stilled, gripping the console with white knuckles, their face still stormy.

“Doctor--” she started.

They turned on their heel and stalked off into the depths of the TARDIS without ever looking back. 

She sagged back against the wall, letting herself feel as useless as she had been for the past several hours. “Are they... “ she asked, voice small. “Are they going to be okay?”

_|| I will look after them. ||_

“Is there anything I can do? Can’t I help?”

_|| You would be capable of it. ||_

_|| But it would be cruelly hard on you. ||_

_|| And even more cruel to them, ||_

There was a brief, almost imperceptible pause, before the TARDIS continued the thought.

_|| should you stop in the middle. ||_

“Stop in the middle?” Donna repeated, blinking. “What-- What do you mean?”

_|| They need trust. ||_

_|| Control. ||_

_|| Something they can ensure will come out right. ||_

_|| And they need time to put themself back together. ||_

_|| To put the mask back on. ||_

“...is…” she trailed off, not sure how to ask what she was worried about. If they needed to control something, then it being hard on her was… concerning. She didn’t like their anger, it was deep and terrifying, and she’d only seen it this bad a few times. “Is there any way you can… show me how I can help them? Maybe not this time, but… something to help me the next time this sort of thing happens. Something so I’m _prepared_ for the next time.”

The TARDIS was extremely quiet for longer than she expected. Usually the ship had an answer immediately. She had all layers of time at her disposal, no matter what. It was rare for her to be turning something over before answering anything.

_|| I could. ||_

_|| But even a simulation would be complex. ||_

_|| It would need your entire commitment. ||_

_|| You would learn much. ||_

_|| But it would not be comfortable to know. ||_

“They’re my best mate,” she asserted. “If I can’t commit to this, then I can’t commit to saying that either. Tell me what I’d have to do, and I’ll do it. I don’t care what it is. How can I help them?”

 _|| You realize I look after them as I look after you?_ _||_

A shiver ran down her spine. She knew that the TARDIS was close with them, and it made sense that their little stress-relief sessions weren’t something that the TARDIS kept for her alone. She wasn’t nearly _that_ special. “So… you mean… to help them, it’d be…”

_|| Yes. ||_

_|| The psychic capabilities I use on you to trick your mind into feeling different sensations are applicable to them, as well. ||_

_|| It even uses most of the same hypnotic and post-hypnotic triggers. ||_

_|| But now is not the time for your self-doubt. ||_

_|| Even the simulated Doctor would require everything of you, without hesitation. ||_

“Then…” she chuckled uneasily. “Maybe I _should_ leave them to you. But… I’d still like to see what it’d take, if that’s okay.” If nothing else, she could have a better understanding of them, to be a better friend in other ways. “What would I need to do?”

She started down the hallways, figuring that the TARDIS would set up a room for her for this simulation session. It was how they usually handled these things, after all, she’d wander into the depths of the hallways until a room became more apparent to her, and then she’d be at the TARDIS’ mercy for the next while. 

The walls hummed thoughtfully around her. More hesitation? But then, with the Doctor so badly off as that… The TARDIS was probably busy taking care of them, even now.

The corridor came to a dead end with a plain white door in it.

_|| As you are told. ||_

Which… fair.

Donna took a deep breath, and reached for the doorknob. She could do that. She could take this one step at a time. Reach for the doorknob, open the door, and then just… follow orders.

The door opened inward. She stepped through it, and hesitated just a moment in the doorway. Even here, in the simulation, the sharpness of their outline was radiating discontent in a way that made her shiver with a perceived danger.

They turned with the door opening, eyes flinty and unreadable as they locked on hers. She bit down the urge to swallow, and pushed the door shut behind her. She trusted this, trusted that it wouldn’t be too much, or else the TARDIS wouldn’t have suggested it in the first place.

The click of the door behind her felt unnaturally loud in the room.

“So prompt,” they said softly, and there was something… strange, in their voice. Usually they were coaxing, or teasing, or _ooh-I’m-just-so-clever,_ jollying her along or showing her the universe or telling her that _this was really extremely important, Donna!_

But this…

Maybe it was that there was _nothing_ in it.

Only facts, and satisfaction in them.

Of course she was prompt, said their eyes.

She was for them.

And wasn’t that enough to cause a shiver. This session wasn’t for her. This was showing her what the TARDIS was doing for them. They weren’t for her, _she was for them._

“Strip.”

It wasn’t a request.

She took a breath. _As you’re told,_ she repeated to herself, and brought her arms around to pull her jacket off, letting it fall to the floor and then pulling her shirt up and over her head. The brief instant that she lost sight of them with her shirt blocking her eyes felt… like leaping off of the edge of a canyon, not sure if the bungee cord attached to her ankle would catch her weight.

 _As you’re told_ , shimmying down her cargo pants, toeing off her flats, and then leaning down to tug off her socks.

 _As you’re told,_ hesitating a bare second before drawing her arms behind her back to unhook her bra, shivering and exposed. When it fell to the ground among the rest of the fabric there, her fingers stilled briefly again on the waistband of her underwear. If losing sight of them felt like jumping from a cliff, this last step felt like realizing she had no parachute if the bungee cord _did_ snap.

Her nostrils flared. She’d asked for this. She was theirs, for this session. The underwear slipped off of her hips and pooled around her feet, letting her step out of them and stand there, completely bare and trying not to feel self-conscious.

Cool fingers tipped her chin up (and _when_ had they gotten so close?), forcing her to meet that coolly satisfied gaze. 

Had she ever been quite so aware of how _tall_ they were before? How still they could be, how quiet? It was so blindingly apparent here that they were extremely inhuman. 

How _much_ of the Doctor she knew was an act put on for her comfort?

The thin lips curled up a few millimeters at the edges. The chill fingers slid down her throat, lingered at the hollow. She was acutely aware of her pulse beating against their fingertips.

“Take off my tie,” they said softly.

She was even more aware of the movement of her throat against their thumb as she swallowed. But her hands moved when she told them to, and her fingers cooperated in loosening the knot enough to pull the tie undone. It didn’t feel right to lift it over their head. So instead, it slid from around their throat, gathered in a loose tangle in her hands.

The lips curled up very slightly further.

“Hands or eyes?”

She blinked. She… had a choice?

Hands or eyes. Related to their tie, which she’d just taken off.

Blindfold or binding. She didn’t know if they were asking which she wanted to keep, or which she wanted to give up. Maybe it didn’t matter what she chose, maybe they would change which they meant depending on what they’d already decided they wanted to do. All she could do was hope it was what she wanted to give up for this encounter.

Her voice trembled, even in its softness. “Eyes.”

She could stand being unable to see them, but having her hands bound was… a high demand of trust, this early on in a session she’d been told would be demanding.

An odd vibration started up, deep, rhythmic, so startlingly _loud_ in the absolute silence of this chamber in which she couldn’t even hear the TARDIS.

“Good girl,” they said softly, and it was the odd note in their voice that made the connection--the purr.

She was so keyed up, so lost, that she’d even forgotten what their purr sounded like. This barely even sounded like it -- it wasn’t warm and fond as she was used to, it wasn’t contentment or exhaustion. It was sharp, biting _satisfaction_.

They took the tie from her hands and bound it swiftly around her head, then checked the fit. “Can you see?”

Even with her eyes open, the fabric blocked out everything but a faint suggestion of light at the very edges above and below her eyes. “No.”

“Does it pinch?”

“No. The knot might catch and tug on my hair some, though.”

The knot was adjusted, loosened enough to tug the length of her hair up and through it, until they could tie it off again underneath her hair. They returned to the same tightness with a practiced ease. The new angle of the tie meant that even the thin lines of peripheral almost-light were gone. “And now?”

She nodded briefly, heart in her throat. “Good.”

“Good,” they repeated, and then--

\--a hand in her hair, fingers tangling, pulling her head back with just enough of a tug to sting briefly, cool lips on hers, opening her mouth with a lazy prod of tongue and kissing her slowly, thoroughly, as supremely confident as a tiger in its own territory.

The other hand was still resting feather-light at her throat, and if she had thought even briefly about resisting, that hand would have been a deterrent. Luckily, the only thought that passed through her mind was _oh!_ at the gentle sting of her hair being pulled, and then nothing more, her mouth instinctively falling open for them to claim. 

She placed her hands on their chest for stability, taking comfort in the gentle rumble of their purr, the steady thumping of their hearts under her palms. 

Now, slowly, the hand at her throat began to move, sliding down to rest briefly over her heart, fingers tracing one of those circles that had become so familiar from other sessions before they carried on further, cupping her breast with the same sort of easy self-assurance they used in claiming some new gadget that had caught their eye, or--

\--their fingers stroked her skin in time with their tongue on hers, and she realized:

Not like some _new_ gadget.

Like the TARDIS.

This was a session showing her what the TARDIS was doing for them. Of course they would treat her as they would the TARDIS. She was filling in the spot that the TARDIS would be filling elsewhere.

A faint sound snuck out of her throat, lost in the kiss and claimed as much as the rest of her mouth: a soft, dubious whimper of pleasure at the bare scrape of a nail across one of her nipples. The touches were delicate and gentle until they weren’t, until they were expectant, until they were _demanding_ ; the TARDIS was _their_ ship, _they_ were the pilot, and they would decide how she would be treated. They would take care of her, but they were in charge.

The purr warmed just a fraction. Had they sensed that tremor of trust? Or were they only enjoying themself and their command of her?

Did it matter?

She was only here to do as she was told.

Clever fingers plucked at her nipple, rolled it, teased at the areola with delicate applications of nail’s edges. The clever mouth stroked and licked and coaxed. The hand in her hair--

\--was unwinding itself, stroking down her nape, the length of her spine, cupping her arse and pulling her flush against their body. Soft-rough cotton and the cool-hard of buttons teased her bare skin. The hand kneaded against the flesh it had claimed, rolling her hips against theirs, making it apparent that the buttons weren’t the only thing that were cool and hard.

She slid her hands along their chest, until they came to rest near the buttons of their shirt, but then she stilled them. They were moving with a steady ease, playing her like a fiddle, but she was acutely aware that the only thing she was told to do was _as she was told_. And they were taking what they wanted of her, but they hadn’t told her to do anything more than taking off their tie.

 _| Open my shirt, clever girl. |_ Their voice in her head, as clear as the TARDIS (of course it would be) but all their own, cool and satisfied as the purr, caressing her thoughts as fondly and easily as their hands teased her skin. 

She was getting past a bit of the overwhelming sense of being in over her head. Her tongue had started to recognize the rhythm of theirs, and to meet it measure for measure, not competitively but finding her footing in the dance. All she had to do was what they wanted her to do. There was… a strange sort of ease, to that.

To letting go. To letting them have control.

Her fingers quickly located the buttons and worked them open, from the top near their throat and following their way down to where their shirt was tucked into their waistband. She held onto the fabric for a second to see if they would stop her, then gently tugged the shirt tails up and out, until it hung open on their shoulders and she could slide her hands back up along their skin to find their heartbeats again.

The purr warmed just that little more. _| There you are. |_ their fingers traced a new circle over her buttock, matched it on her breast, shivery-sweet reward. _| I left you your hands for a reason. When I change my mind… |_

 _Amusement_ tickled her. _| You’ll know. |_

She shivered once more under their hands, but took the reminder to heart, letting her hands drift up to their shoulders to ease the fabric of their shirt and the extra weight of their jacket off of them. Neither would go far unless they momentarily pulled away from her to pull the loosened clothing off, but it was an extra few inches of skin that she could trail her fingertips across.

Without her sight, all she could do was rely on touch. To find the hollow of their throat with the pad of her thumb, trace gently over their Adam’s apple, feel the soft sandpaper roughness of their jawline, the gentle bushiness of their sideburns, the delicate curves of their ears, until it was lost in the hedgehog wildness of their hair. 

Without breaking the kiss for a second, she let her hands trail back down again, finding the thrumming pulse point under their ears, the warmest point on their skin where the blood ran closest to the surface and fastest, a drum beat that she could rely on. Her thumbs found the gentle jut of their collar bones at the base of their throat, and followed them across the top of their chest until she could trace her hands down the outer edges of their chest and find rib bones, one at a time, tracing each with just the same delicacy, building the shape of them in her mind.

And here was a rib, and here was a rib, and here was their stomach, flexing under her light touches, and here was a gentle imperfection in their skin, just where they’d been hit mere hours before, and here was the jut of their hip, where she could go forward and down further, but she hadn’t traced enough, had only half of their shape in her mind, so instead she followed it around and back, slipping under the heavy fabrics and following the dips in the musculature joining up to their spine until she could count the vertebrae, press her fingers gently in the canyons between them and follow the curving mountain range back up their back, and then down and under their arms again, aiming once more for that comfortable base-point over both of their hearts…

She was slow. Meandering. Each touch not a claim, but a rediscovery, quiet and stolen and hoarded. It was all very much seeking out her own comfort, a small fraction of familiarity, a breath of assurance that she was doing alright without even being certain of what she was _supposed_ to be doing.

And then their hands closed over hers, pressed them close to their hearts for just a moment as they broke the kiss with one last nip at her lips. “That’s very lovely,” they said darkly, “and very distracting.” 

She stilled immediately, not even twitching her fingers against their skin, hyper-aware of the heightened heartbeat under her palms. Her lips felt slick with saliva, and kiss-swollen. 

“Do you want me to stop?” she asked, even though she already had.

They caught up both her wrists in one hand, grip firm and immovable for all it was so gentle it hardly dented skin--vivid contrast to the sharp, crooked teeth nipping her earlobe and down the tendon of her throat. 

“I told you,” the Doctor growled against the crook of her neck. “You’d know when I changed my mind.” They bit there, hard enough to bruise, latched on and sucked _hard,_ catching her weight when her legs gave out under her in the sudden shock. 

_| You need to be marked_ ** _properly_** , _|_ washed over her thoughts as they worked at the bitten point, breaking blood vessels and methodically drawing color to the outer layer of her skin. _| So that you can’t forget who you_ ** _belong_** _to._ _|_ And then, satisfied for the moment, they stepped back--and slung her over their shoulder, as easy as breathing. 

The purr was _deafening_.

Vertigo made her head spin for a moment, as they turned in place with her and carried her away from the door, and she had a moment to be very quietly, privately amazed that they could lift her up over their shoulder as though she weighed nothing. And then they were tilting forward, swinging her back off of their shoulder, and she was landing on something soft and cushioned, her breath knocked from her--

\--and her hands were being guided over her head. "Hold on to that," they said softly. "And don't let go."

She felt out the cold cast iron, wrapping her fingers around it and holding on. “O… Okay.” _As you’re told_ , she reminded herself again. _All you have to do is as you’re told._

They dropped a kiss on the pulse point of her near wrist. “Good girl. The longer you can do that, the better you’ll be rewarded.” They dropped a matching kiss on the other wrist, on the insides of each elbow, trailed a ticklish kiss-line up the inside of her left upper arm, left a new hickey high on her throat, on the opposite side of the first. 

_| Counterbalance, |_ they purred in her head, and left another, smaller one high on the curve of her bosom before kissing their way down to her nipple and teasing it with kisses and licks and nips, _| to make up for earlier neglect. |_

She tightened her hold on the bed, her back arching slightly up into the ardent mouth and her breath catching in her throat. Everywhere that they touched felt like it was sparking with electricity, drawing her attention to every inch, blood rushing and skin warming under them. It was much more apparent when their arms bracketed her in that those arms were bare. The coarse hair on their arms tickled the sensitive skin on her sides, and the cool skin of their chest rested against the curve of her stomach. 

_| You fit me so nicely, |_ they mused, suckling gently. One hand was sliding down her side, idly tracing more of those little circles over her flank and down the curve of her hip. _| And you mark up so beautifully. Memory after memory so we can both look after, and_ **_know_ ** _… |_

Her mind flickered back to the sense memory of them pressed up as far into her as they could possibly go, and a shudder trailed down her spine. She pressed her legs together briefly, biting down on her lower lip with a whimper. 

They laughed around their mouthful of her, and left her with one last nip before kissing and biting their way down her belly, leaving hickey after hickey to mark their trail. _| All in good time, my Donna, all in good time. I have so many plans for you, but don’t worry. |_ They nipped at her belly button, dipped in their tongue, placed another hickey just below it. _| We’ll get there. |_

One of their hands had slid down to her thigh, tracing more and more of those same circles into it, lower and lower, and making her have to focus on holding onto the iron above her head just so she wouldn’t squirm. Each bite and nip made her hips twitch upwards, less and less as they got lower, as their weight shifted lower to hold her down…

...and then they were leaning upward, a brief loss of skin against skin, and their hand had reached one of her knees and was pressing at it, easing her legs open. The abundance of skin returned, positioned between her legs, and she let out a faint keen at a final mark bitten and worked into the jut of her hip.

“But for now,” they murmured against the skin, “I have something else in mind.” The hand hooked under her knee, lifted it further and her leg with it, guiding it… over their shoulder? They nuzzled there where her knee hooked over, nipped, sucked. _| You’ve been so good keeping your hands where I put them. Now I want you to keep your legs just that way, too. Can you do that for me, pet? |_

Her toes curled, and she swallowed.

She knew that mouth better than she really thought she ought to, and knew that the only time it stopped was when it was busy. The fact that they were so focused on the drag of it against her skin that they were prioritizing telepathy… She had a fair idea what they had in mind.

And without her sight, touch was so much more intense. She swallowed. “Ca-Can I--” she stammered. “D-Do you want… me to be q-quiet?” She wasn’t sure she’d be able to be still _and_ quiet.

Their lips curled against her skin. 

“Sing for me,” they said, and began a slow line of hickeys up the inside of her thigh, tongue swirling a circle over each one--to seal it as good? Who knew? Donna couldn’t, not in all the anticipation, and not trying to concentrate on where her legs were, her hands, where they were holding them, the way the hand on her other thigh traced yet more circles in goosebumps on her skin.

They moved with an inexorable slowness, as impossible to stop as a glacier sweeping across a landscape. They were taking their time.

She started trembling on the third hickey. Whimpering on the fifth. The first soft groan slipped from her throat when they doubled back to pay extra attention to a small constellation of freckles about halfway up her thigh. Her fingers ached faintly from her grip, but she didn’t dare loosen them. 

Each freckle got its own little kiss before they moved on at last, kissing their way back into place and taking back up where they left off. How many more hickeys? She couldn’t think. Their hand was pressing her other thigh to the mattress now, holding it there, bracing them so that they could place each mark _precisely_ where they wanted it. The purr rumbled through them, teasing her.

She was almost certain that when she could see again, there would be an unbroken line of bruising from all these hickies from her knee to her core.

...and then, a breath away, they stilled.

She was trembling with anticipation, her stomach heaving as she struggled to get enough oxygen into her lungs…

And their mouth slipped away. She felt a stab of something cold and panicky in her stomach. _What? No. No no. No no no no no._

Quietly.

Tauntingly.

A gentle nip to her _other knee_.

 _| Balance in all things, my Donna, |_ they purred.

“Oh, _fuck_ you,” she keened, her hips flexing as much as they could in their iron grip. Her leg spasmed automatically to dig her heel into their back. “Actually, no. Fuck _me_. Don’t be such a tease!”

They took their time about setting a hickey just at the hook of her knee. _| Ask me nicely. |_

“Doctor…” she whined. “You were _right there_ …! Don’t be _mean_!”

The mouth lifted. The shoulder shifted under her. They bent… and began a new hickey, mid-way up her thigh. _| Keep going. |_

 _Oh, you colossal_ **_prat--_ **

She let out a strangled sound of miffed disbelief. What, they wanted her to _beg_ ? That _was_ cruel.

“I _bloody_ hate you.” she breathed, throwing her head back against the pillow. “Please, for the love of my sanity, _please._ I’m about to vibrate out of my bloody _skin_ at this rate.”

They were _definitely_ smiling, the utter bastard. _| Well, |_ they drawled mentally, and how the _hell_ did that even _work,_ _| I suppose if it’ll stop you swearing … |_

They were so _close_ now, she could feel their breath teasing at her curls, hear them inhale her scent--

 _| Do remember your promise, |_ they teased, and a cool tongue swirled a new promise around her clit, and then dove down, dipping just inside, swirling another circle around the edges, and then up again for a new circle in the opposite direction.

Her hips jerked at the sheer gratification of the moment, a sharp keen slipping from her throat. She gave them a lot of flack for having an oral fixation and for putting everything in their mouth, or tasting everything they could, but she couldn’t deny that they had a skilled tongue. She was so high keyed that even this small amount was adding kindling to the bonfire pyre being built in her lower gut.

She didn’t know how she was going to _survive_ if she was so close to orgasming already. Especially when expected to keep her hands up above her head and her legs still. 

Another gentle, almost lazy tongue flick against her clit, and she whimpered, biting down on her lip hard enough to sting in order to ground herself in the moment and not go racing toward the edge embarrassingly fast.

 _| Don’t damage my property, |_ they reproved sternly, and pinched her thigh. _| Only_ **_I_ ** _get to leave marks on you. |_ Their tongue flicked again, teased along her inner lips. _| And I told you to sing for me. |_

“I-I don’t--” she stammered, fingers flexing around the cold cast iron, hips straining against their hold. “I don’t w-want to-- to come too soon.” It felt mortifying to admit it aloud, but they wouldn’t know why she was trying to stop herself unless she told them. Scrambling for a tiny little extra semblance of her usual bravado, she managed to tack on a slightly lame, “You don’t need the ego boost.”

 _| Oh, really? |_ The _purr_ rose up again, smug and satisfied and _far too good_ when their tongue was already curling around her clit again. _| Don’t worry. I’m not worried about how_ **_soon_** _. |_

_Teeth,_ light and careful, just a nip, more startle than sensation, a flicker of tongue to soothe, and then their lips closed around her nub and _sucked._ _| I’m far more concerned with how_ ** _many._** _|_

Lightning sparked up her spine and she gasped, her voice breaking in her throat as it streaked back down and shattered like a firework. The tip of their tongue traced tiny circles between their lips, guiding her through the waves of her orgasm and drawing them out, while she trembled beneath them.

...so much for not coming too soon.

That was… she didn’t know what that was. She’d managed to _give_ oral orgasms before, but she couldn’t quite remember _getting_ one before. And to have it happen so quickly, so matter of fact-- they really _were_ playing her like a fiddle. 

Usually, in her sessions with the TARDIS, things went in a very straightforward sort of way -- tab A in slot B -- the TARDIS could draw out the sensations and keep her at a level for a while, but usually caved to what she wanted with minimal effort. She could get out one or two, sometimes three really excellent orgasms in a fifteen minute romp, and then get cleaned up and ready for whatever lay ahead, whether it was bed after a long day or going out to meet Spaceman for the next adventure. And since she’d never _had_ excellent experiences with _receiving_ oral before, she’d never thought to ask for it, even from the sapient ship. 

But.

Well, but.

This session wasn’t about her. She had to keep reminding herself that. This was just showing her what could be done for the Doctor, and… hadn’t the TARDIS said something about them needing _control_ ? How much more control could they get, really? Poised and patient and _still_ in a way that they rarely ever seemed to be, beneath the manic energy that she’d grown accustomed to. Drawing her out inch by inch and taking their time and leaving her nothing she could do about it.

Eventually, the aftershocks of the orgasm slowed, and she panted for breath, the tension flowing back out of her neck and letting her head drop back down to the pillow beneath it. She was sort of glad that she couldn’t _see_ the smug grin she could _feel_ against her thigh.

“Delicious,” they purred, the hand on her other thigh stroking softly as if to soothe her. Tease her more, more like. “I think I’ll have another.” 

_Anoth--?_

Their hand slid higher, thumb hooking gently on her labia to spread her open a little farther, and then that _tongue_ was back, a long slow lick up her, savoring, and they were making _happy little noises like she was a piece of banana cake, the absolute bastard._

_| Oh,_ **_much_ ** _better than cake. Even yours. |_ Another lick, like she was an ice cream, and then their tongue delved deep, lapping her up, stroking her inner walls. _| All those marvelous hormones. I can taste precisely how much fun you’re having, and how surprised you are, and how much you love it, and I did that. I’m doing that._ **_Me._ ** _|_

_| So much better than cake, my Donna. |_

“ _Christ_ ,” she wheezed, her toes curling and her fingers straining again, the low tension ache growing more apparent as all of her muscle groups complained at being held in the same position. “Hasn’t anyone ever told you it’s rude to talk with your mouth full?”

She could barely keep her thoughts straight and here they were being _smug_.

They snorted--a fascinating and rather shivery sensation given where their nose was right now--and pinched her again. _| Don’t make me laugh with my mouth full, either. |_ The tongue was replaced with one long, curious finger--oh. Not replaced, joined, exploring and stretching and _teasing,_ a maddening mix of sensations. 

A gentle scrape of a nail, scratching an itch that couldn’t be scratched in that way, pressing against places where there was resistance and finding the spots that sparked and sent lights dancing across her blocked vision. And all the while, that _tongue_. Reveling in the little bursts of wetness as they found more and more ‘on’ buttons. 

_| And Donna, my Donna, you are not the one in charge. Keep your legs where I put them, |_ they reminded her, and left her to keep her leg curled over their shoulder by herself while their hand slid around to tease her neglected clit with their thumb. _| I can tell you how utterly delectable you are, how brilliant, how beautiful, and how_ ** _mine_** _you are, as much as I want, for as long as I want, and_ ** _you can’t stop me._** _|_

Their finger flexed, bringing another soft gasp from between her lips and another rush of damp sweetness to their tongue. Then it retreated a moment, giving her a few seconds to process before it returned -- this time with a second finger with it, pressing and spreading and taking up a bit more room. A deliberately rough press of their thumb against her clit accompanied it. The knee tucked over their shoulder bent more sharply, her heel digging into their back as her spine arched, and she turned her head to the side to muffle her moan into the skin of her arm.

 _| Louder, |_ they ordered. _| You’ve never been quiet about anything in your life, don’t you dare start now. |_

They bent their fingers and pressed upward. She pressed her face more firmly into her arm, mortified that they could-- that they knew-- that the _TARDIS_ was using her hot spots against her like this. “ _Fuck_ …!”

 _| That’s it, |_ they coaxed, pressing again, massaging, thumb flicking in time, drinking her up. _| Give me another, let me hear you. You can do it, for me. Come for me just like this, my Donna. |_

She was still keyed up from her first orgasm, it was impossible to ignore the way back up, and she found herself climbing without any way to stop it. Their tongue swept deep and their fingers pressed and--

\--and she felt the by-now familiar sensation of fingers prodding in the back of her mind, laying claim, _caressing_ \--

\--and her muscles clenched all at once, the leg over their shoulder pulling them close and holding them there, and the leg against the bed lifting a bare inch as she careened over the edge _again,_ spasming around and under them and letting out a loud, broken keen into the air as she saw white.

They eased her through it again, fingers gentling but still moving, drawing it out, drinking in her taste and her delight, bringing her at last to rest--

\--but then they were very quiet.

They were so still that she might have thought herself alone, except for her legs wrapped around them.

She wasn’t even sure if they were _breathing_ , or if they’d swapped over to their respiratory bypass, so still were they.

She felt a sudden jolt of unease, worried that she’d somehow done something wrong, and scrambled to think about what it could have been-- she hadn’t let go of the iron above her head, her fingers were _shaking_ but they hadn’t loosened. She was trembling and jelly everywhere else, and the muscles in her legs were still spasming with tiny tics as she caught her breath, but… she was still… in the same position, wasn’t she?

Were they mad that she’d pulled them in and held them there? Was she not loud enough for their liking?

“Shh,” they said softly. “Such a noisy head. You did very well.” Gentle hands eased her knee off their shoulder. “But I think I set you a little too hard a task.” A soft pat on her other leg. “Telling you not to move that from the bed when I didn’t bother to scold you for pulling me in? Terribly inconsistent of me. No, you’ll need help for that.”

“He-- help?” she asked, her voice cracking in the middle of the word. The shifting made her hips twist a bit and turned her entire body, and she shifted her shoulders to accommodate it, grimacing as a tweak of pain shot up her arms, through her fingers, and back down to her shoulder.

“In a little bit,” they assured her. “For now, you need a bit of tending, I think.” 

A rush of relief. This was a pause. She loosened the fingers of one hand briefly, uncurling them and flexing them outward, her knuckles popping loudly in the relative silence.

“There, you see? You can let go, for now.” The mattress shifted as they got up, then sat again, and the cool hands--one still a little sticky--caught her free one, loosened the fingers of the other, brought her hands up to be kissed. “You were so good, not letting go even once.”

“C-Can I see you?” she asked, “Can I remove the--”

“No.” 

Their voice was no less firm for being gentle. 

She fell quiet again, fingers flexing gently against their grip as they kissed the pads of each. It was a soothing gesture, especially paired with the gentle pressure of their own fingers rubbing feeling back into the digits, but… it was the only point of physical contact. She still didn’t even know how big this bed was, she hadn’t thought to look at it when she entered the room. They could be only as close as necessary to tend to her fingers, and she would have no way of knowing.

...maybe she _should_ have asked to be bound, instead of giving up her sight. She felt a surge of loneliness, with so little physical touch to go off of.

They kissed one last finger and let go of her hands, apparently satisfied--

\--and then she was being scooped up off the bed, tucked close against their bare chest, and carried somewhere else.

She tucked her head close against their shoulder and focused on the soft rumble of their purr through their chest. It was a comfort to have it back, the eerie silence had been even more disconcerting than the cold satisfaction. She might not know where they were going, or what they were planning for the rest, but for right now at least she had the familiar shape of them against her.

There was the soft click of a door opening, and they passed into a warm, humid, echoing space; somewhere close, a tub was filling.

"Time to clean you up a bit," they murmured, and lowered her gently into perfectly hot water.

Her muscles tensed up and then loosened all over again, and she let out a faint sigh of relief as the tension ache eased out of them an inch at a time. As well, it was a relief to get the faint sheen of sweat off of her skin. Their hands spread liquid soap across her skin while she just let the heat soak into herself, enjoying the soft touches and care.

“Is this helping you?” she asked, voice soft.

"Yes," they said softly, massaging her shoulders. "You're mine, to cherish or torment, and I can make certain you enjoy all of it. That _good_ comes from all of it."

 _| That for once my dictates don't lead to disaster, |_ she heard, and wondered if she'd really been meant to.

“You know I’m here for whatever you need, dumbo.” she replied, catching one of their hands and bringing it up to her cheek, pressing her face into their wet palm. “No matter _what_ you need. If you need everything exactly right, then I’ll try to have it exactly right. And if you need to take care of someone to feel better, then you don’t have to sound so bitter about it.”

Their breath caught.

The purr warmed to something like its usual warm affection.

“That’s my Donna,” they whispered. “Always my good sense.”

“One of us has to be.” she squeezed gently around their hand, before letting it go. “Let me help you. When I can.” 

They stroked her cheek with a thumb. “You always help me. Sometimes more directly than others.” They kissed her, softly this time, and turned their attention to her hair.

Once more, she let herself melt into the gentle touches as they scrubbed at her scalp, getting under and around the tie blindfold and thoroughly cleaning her hair, then easing her back to dip her head into the warm water and get the shampoo out. The feeling of their fingers carding through her hair and making sure that it was completely clean felt lovely.

“I still don’t understand your obsession with ginger hair.” she admitted softly into the silence between them. “It’s just a hair color.”

“It’s lovely, and much rarer in Time Lords than in humans,” she could almost hear them shrug. “And yours is particularly beautiful. So vivid, and so perfectly you.”

She felt her cheeks heating up at the comments, though it seemed silly to get flustered over them. She was entirely nude and they were bathing her, it was a bit late to get self conscious.

“You flatterer.” she said, without heat. 

“You’re mine, I get to appreciate you,” they said firmly. “How do you feel?”

“Naked and blindfolded.” she answered simply. “And clean.”

“And the aches?”

“Yes, they’re gone, dummy.” She smiled briefly, but then it fell away again as they took their hands away from her entirely again. She strained her ears, but they were so quiet and still. She lifted her hands, reaching out towards where they had been a moment before, closing on empty air.

“Spaceman--” she bit down fiercely on the uneasy whimper in her voice.

“Don’t worry,” they said gently. “I’m right here.” The hands closed on hers again. “Here, stand up.”

She let herself be heaved upright, clinging to their hands once she was, even as the water began draining away from her legs. “I don’t like not being able to see you and not being able to feel where you are.”

She was wrapped up in one of the TARDIS’ cashmere-soft bath towels and gently rubbed dry. “Then I’m glad to say the blindfold has done its duty… Not that I’m by any means done with you.”

“Didn’t think you were.” she replied, stepping out of the tub when directed and holding still while they fluffed up her hair with another towel. It was going to dry in wild curls if she didn’t blow dry it straight, but she somehow doubted they were going to let her…

“Of course I’m not, I love your curls,” they said absently, discarding the towels. “Besides, it won’t matter.”

“They’re going to get in my face,” she grumped, shivering faintly in the humid air of the bathroom, but knew that she didn’t have much of a choice here. This session wasn’t for her, after all, it was for them. Even the simulation Doctor would have control in that sense.

“No, they won’t,” they said simply, and lifted her into their arms, tucking her close bridal-style. Again. “I have plans. Starting with braiding your hair.”

Well, that was her told. She huffed fondly against their shoulder, but didn’t protest as they carried her out of the bathroom again. At least the bedroom was comfortably warm.

They set her down on the bed much more gently this time, helping her up to sit on the edge and sitting behind her so that their legs bracketed hers. Cool cotton tickled her skin… and their interest was poking her in the back, though they still didn’t seem inclined to do anything about that.

“I’m going to take the blindfold off,” they said softly. “It’s going to be your job to look at something now, and it will be until I tell you we’re done. You can blink as much as you need, but you’re not allowed to turn away. Do you understand?”

“Yes.” she answered. There was relief in the fact that she would be allowed to see again, even though it was tempered by the fact that they were sitting behind her and she was apparently not allowed to turn and look at them again.

“Good girl,” they said warmly, and the much-abused silk was at last untied and allowed to fall away, leaving her blinking in the dim light. It still took a few seconds for her eyes to adjust despite the light being far more forgiving than she actually expected.

The room was lit and warmed by a fireplace and what had to be hundreds of candles, a wonderfully eclectic collection of pillars, candlesticks, and tea-lights. But what was in front of her--

\--was a mirror that filled the entirety of one wall, reflecting the entire room, and in it, herself, being held by the barefoot, shirtless Doctor, their hair as wild as if she’d been running her hands through it and mauling them with kisses, their face alive with plotting. 

They hooked their chin over her shoulder and nuzzled her cheek. “I’m going to show you how lovely you are,” they told her, softly. “And you don’t get to deflect me, and you don’t get to contradict me, and you don’t get to look away. What you get to do is watch, and enjoy yourself, and come for me…” 

Their teeth flashed white in the firelight.

“Eventually.”

 _| When I think I’ll let you. |_ was squeezed gently into her hips, before they sat back and brought their hands up to start parting the damp strands of her hair. Donna shivered, both at the loss of their chest against her back and the ominous comment, and then at the gentle tugging pressure against her scalp.

The best she could do was all she could do: _as she was told_. She watched them work in the mirror for the most part, eyes drawn to the focus on their face rather than the familiar curves and rolls of her chest and stomach, or the spread of her hips and thighs between their bonier legs. 

At least the braid was lovely, a spiraling crown that tucked in on itself at the ends in some invisible fashion. They considered her for a moment, added a few hairpins from their pockets, and smiled at her. 

“Step one,” they said gently. “I do love playing with your hair.”

“What’s step two?”

“Readying you for display,” they said easily. “Stand up a moment.”

She slipped off of the bed and onto her feet, resisting the urge to turn and look at them, and instead meeting her own gaze in the mirror for a moment. It was… startling, seeing herself like this. She’d seen herself nude in the mirror before, of course, but it wasn’t something she paid much attention to. And it wasn’t only her nakedness, either. There was a vulnerability in her eyes that she didn’t usually let herself show.

While she’d been busy with that, the Doctor had gotten up and rummaged in their pockets for a moment, producing a coil of narrow, finely-woven rope in TARDIS-blue. They held it out to her. “Soft enough?”

Her eyes snapped from their reflections down to the rope in their hands for a few seconds, and she lifted a hand to trace her fingers over it. There was a gentle texturing to the rope but it wasn’t rough to the touch. “I… guess so.” 

She supposed that this was the part of the session where they bound her hands, since they’d given her her eyes back. Maybe her legs, too, to hold them down in the way she hadn’t been able to on her own. With a faint, nervous swallow, she took a deep breath and returned her gaze to the mirror.

“Good girl.” They kissed her forehead. “Now remember, if anything tingles or goes numb, tell me _immediately._ Do you promise?”

“That’s just common sense.”

“Do you promise,” they repeated, sternly.

She sighed. “Fine, yes, I promise.”

“Good. Arms out to your sides. Straight out.”

She wasn’t sure why they wanted her arms out, but… whatever. She trusted them (Trusted the TARDIS, at least,) and trusted that they knew what they were about. She lifted her arms and held them outwards to her sides, watching them in the mirror.

The little glimmer of _amusement_ in their intent look might have been the only reason she didn’t jump when the double-line of rope was looped around her _neck._ Carefully--no pressure went near her _throat_ \--but it was still a shock.

She knew her spaceman enough to trust that they wouldn’t actively hurt her, even when they were the scary sort of angry. Especially not on the TARDIS. And she trusted the TARDIS not to let her get hurt even more.

And this wasn’t anger. This was just… _control_.

So while she searched their expression in the mirror, for comfort, for reassurance, she held still.

"That's right," they murmured, meeting her eyes in the reflection. "I've got you. You'll be alright."

Her throat flexed against the rope as she swallowed, but she gave a faint nod.

"Good girl," they praised, and kept going. She could always feel them, always see them, and the soft, contented thrum of their purr was as much felt as heard.

Slowly, inch by inch, they twisted the rope into small slip knots and a faint tension pressure tightened where it was already tied, the meditative movements slowing her breathing even as her heartbeat thudded loudly in her ears. The slight texturing on the rope became texture against her skin, became a myriad of points of minor distraction and touch.

Eventually, she found her eyes drifting, half shut, from watching them to watching what they were doing _to her_. 

A pattern had emerged, rope winding under her arms, around her torso, between her legs, framing her breasts and her skin and the valley between her legs in an intricate set of diamond shapes.

It was beautiful.

 _She_ was beautiful. 

They caught her eyes in the mirror and brushed a kiss over her shoulder, tantalizing nerves already woken by the tension. “That’s it,” they whispered, smiling soft and secret. “Now you’re beginning to see.”

They fastened the rope in some way--at least, so Donna had to assume, she couldn’t see and couldn’t quite muster the will to care--and ran their hands over her arms, gently persuading them to drop, tracing a feather-light touch along the edges of the diamonds at her hips to watch her shiver. “How do you feel?”

She brought her hands up to feel gingerly along the diamonds of knotting, tracing up from her stomach and between her breasts with a shaky exhale. She had no idea how to even begin to describe how she felt, other than _present_ . There was a hyper-awareness running through her system, a sensitivity that shivered through her with every touch. Her heart was racing but she felt… extremely _calm_.

Which… well, that was about as good an explanation as any.

“Calm.”

The word barely even sounded like her voice. She felt strangely dissonant, in a pleasant way. 

They wrapped around her from behind, pulling her closer and squeezing gently. Their face was alight. “Oh, my good girl, my brilliant Donna,” they murmured in her ear, “Just what I wanted. You’re just what I _needed_.” Softly, softly, eyes intent on hers, their hands kept wandering over her. They traced the skin along each twist and line, teasing the nerves to greater life until she thought the nerves must catch flame, and then moving on to the next. 

“I could do more,” they mused. “I was going to bind your arms and legs so prettily. There’s a tie, you know, with a knot that can go over your clit and tease you with every breath you take..:” Their hands drifted upwards, softly teased her breasts, her nipples. “But I don’t think we need it. You’re so lovely just like this.”

Another shiver, and she found herself leaning back against them, feeling her own elevated heart rate almost matching one of their hearts. Her thoughts felt like they were catching on her breath, watching their hands, hyper aware of every point of contact between them. She wanted more, and yet felt overwhelmed already.

But… this wasn’t about her. She was present enough to remember that.

“This is about what _you_ want,” she managed, voice soft.

“Mm, so it is,” they purred, hands drifting apart again. One made its slow way up to tease at the hollow of her throat, up along the soft, delicate skin, cupping her throat for just a moment before gently turning her chin to kiss her over her shoulder, deep and slow and possessive.

The other made its way down, stroking her belly, her navel, skimming over the new patterns the diamonds made of her. Cupped her mound, fingers dipping in softly to test and tease.

Her eyes drifted shut and her breathing deepened. If bare touches were spreading kerosene and sparks, then their hand teasing at her was striking a match, and she was almost certain that she’d go up in flames--

Their hand left her abruptly and seized her wrist, matching the other as it slid down her arm.

“--and I have a very _specific_ goal in mind,” they whispered against her lips, and stepped back. “Fold your arms behind your back.”

Her heart rate kicked up again, and her eyes opened, but still, she was _calm_. She wasn’t sure she’d ever felt this calm before. Even the underlying thrum of worry that something would go wrong had slowed away, drifting into the simple, immutable fact in her mind: She trusted them.

She loosened her shoulders, and brought her hands back, bending her elbows and cupping them with the opposite hands.

“Very pretty,” they murmured. “That’s my good girl.” This binding was swifter, simpler, winding rope around her upper arms and wrists, but they were still purring, and dropped little kisses over her skin when they finished. She flexed her arms briefly, testing the binding, and found herself very firmly held fast, but only tightly if she pulled too hard.

"Still good?" they asked softly.

She met their eyes in the mirror again, nodding.

"Excellent," they said, and lifted her off her feet, guiding her to kneel on the bed, knees parted, still facing the mirror. They made a great show of considering the picture she made, standing to the side so she never lost sight of her assigned view, cupping their chin and humming thoughtfully.

"A bit more blush," they decided, and dropped to their knees, tugged her into range by the hips, and buried their face between her legs.

The match ignited, and she let out a strangled yelp as she curved over them, the ropes straining and digging into her skin, gasping for air as every inch of her seemed to come alive wherever they touched. She’d never climbed so fast towards orgasm, never felt so _wild_ and _out of control_ , but that was the point, wasn’t it-- they were the one in control right now, she could let go, could--

As quickly as they dived in, they pulled away, leaving her crying out in protest, heaving for breath and her skin flushed with how close she’d come.

They were grinning up at her, the proper Doctor-grin, wide and toothy and mischievous, and she loved them even as she wanted to murder them. They swiped their tongue across their slightly shiny lips.

“You are,” she said, with as much dignity as she could muster given that she was heaving for breath and very painfully aroused, “ _extremely_ lucky that I can’t strangle you right now.”

“That would be why you’re very elaborately tied up,” they said smugly. “The harness is decoration and stimulation. The arms and legs--kneel up for me a bit--are so you can’t murder me.”

“I bloody hate you when you’re smug,” she muttered, even as she complied with the request.

“I did tell you _eventually,”_ they purred. “You’ll be ready to forgive me anything when I’m finally done.” More rope was produced, wound around her thigh and calf at the knee, then a few inches farther on, weaving the knot into the previous knotting around her torso and keeping her leg bent there, then yet more, and a fourth time, binding her leg into that kneeling position and tied off with a decorative loop around the ankle. “Alright so far?”

“This is going to be terrible to balance,” she said frankly, shifting her other leg into a similar position and holding herself up on the balls of her feet. “Unless the point is specifically to have me on my back with my legs bent like this.”

“Don’t worry, there’s a mirror on the ceiling too,” the Doctor said blithely, and guided her backward. She wasn’t sure if she was amused or annoyed to realize they were right.

They hovered over her a moment, considering the view, and then half-turned so they could eye the view in the mirror themself.

“Symmetry,” they decided, and bound up her other leg to match. “Still good? Not too bad with your love-bites?”

The rope _was_ digging in along the line of hickeys that they’d left on her leg before, but she found that the ache was a pleasant one. “I’m okay,” she decided, “...a bit… nervous, since I can’t… move.”

“I won’t leave you,” they promised, soft and earnest, “And I can have all this off you in an instant if you need.”

“I know.” her voice was soft. Even while every inch of her felt like an orchestra warming up, a pleasant cacophony of sensation, she felt… safe. It was an intense sensation, one that she wanted to sink into. 

“Then let’s enjoy all your hard work, eh?” they murmured, propping themself beside her on one elbow and letting the other hand tease and fondle as it liked. “Not too long, now. Don’t want to hurt you. But just enough to really _remember._ ” 

Their hand drifted down, teased at the hickies on her closer leg, so very high on her inner thigh. 

“You’ve done very well for me,” they purred. “You’ve tried so hard. You’re allowed to ask for something now. I feel like being generous.”

She was trembling faintly, still so close that she felt like a stiff breeze would send her over, but she bit at her lip for a focusing pain, and looked them over. She’d felt their interest several times during all of this, and yet they hadn’t once actually done anything for _themself_. They hadn’t even taken off their trousers. 

“I want _you_ to feel good,” she said simply, bringing her eyes back up to meet theirs. “I want you to take something for your own sake, and…” she swallowed. Here was the risky part, according to what the TARDIS had said they needed. 

“...and let go of your control.” 

They went still again, so very still that all the warmth seemed to go out of the room, out of _them,_ leaving only the quiet, dangerous, _frayed_ being who’d taken possession of her in the first place.

“Are you very sure,” that lonely alien asked softly, “what you are asking for?”

“I want to help you _deal_ with this,” she insisted. “not _hide_ it. Let me help you, Sp--... Let me help _you_ , Doctor.”

For a long, long time, there was silence.

And then: the cool hand on her cheek, the lazy, possessive, exploring kiss. 

That much was the same.

The brief absence was not, but the mirror at least was reassuring--they’d rolled off the bed, skinned off their trousers, and were back before the taste of them was gone, looming over her twice: 

Their face above her, the chill of their skin against hers still not so chill as the remote _pain_ in their face, bare at last all the way down; 

but also the long, rangy predator in the mirror, lithe and painfully lean, as sharp for themself as for her.

 _| Tell me once more, |_ they said without moving their lips. _| Tell me like this. Tell me three times you mean it. |_

And softer, in the back of her mind, a whisper so soft:

_|| Are you certain that this is what you want? ||_

Of course she was certain. 

She’d placed herself here, after all. Let herself get tangled up, pinned exactly here, underneath them, prey for the predator they were deliberately _starving_. She’d entered this session understanding that this wasn’t meant to be for her.

 _They_ weren’t for her.

 _She was for them_.

It was what she asked for. It was what she wanted from the start. To be able to actually _help_ them. To know what it would take to do so.

To _do_ what it would take to do so.

_I want this. I want to be what is needed of me to be._

_You don’t ever need to hide yourself from me._

The thin lips curled up a few millimeters at the edges.

_| As you wish. |_

The predator in the mirror arched and poised themself.

The Doctor plunged home.

Her back arched up towards them, and her mouth dropped open in a soundless scream as she was pushed over the edge immediately. They’d held her so close, all of her nerve endings sparking like a live wire, and they’d finally connected to ground.

They _shuddered_ above her, in her, breath hissing through bared teeth, but didn’t slow down, hardly seemed to notice, just braced themself on the mattress and bore down, body moving as if it wasn’t even their own.

It was only when the wetness splashed her face that she realized they were weeping.

“Oh,” she breathed, overwhelmed and overwhelmingly _cognizant_ of everything and still so crystal calm and _understanding_. “Oh, Spaceman.”

They sobbed, breath hitching even as they strove into her. “Not--not now, not like this, _please--”_

“Yes now.” she couldn’t reach up and pull them down, but she could brace her arms beneath her, lean herself up, and catch their lips with hers briefly in a gentle brush. “This is for _you_.”

“But I failed, I broke it, I _scared you again,_ how can I be Spaceman if I fail you?” But they were leaning down now, kissing her desperately, neither merry nor claiming but only lost, only seeking comfort they couldn’t believe they deserved.

“You can be Spaceman for me by not shutting me out and shutting yourself away,” she murmured against their lips when they broke off. “Let me take care of you when you falter, you dumbo.”

“Never leave me,” they begged. “If I get used to this and then you’re _gone--”_

“I’m not going anywhere.” The words came immediately, without a sliver of doubt involved. “It’s okay, love. It’s okay. You’re safe.”

It was too rough on already overwhelmed nerves for her to climb again, but that didn’t matter to her. She didn’t need another. This was for them.

“You can let go.”

Something about this -- the permission, the acceptance -- broke something in them, some final dam, and they keened, clutching at her and spilling at last, so consumed in the emotional release she wasn’t entirely sure they’d truly felt the physical one. 

It didn’t seem to matter, not when they collapsed on her at last, clutching at her and sobbing their hearts out.

(Quietly, unobtrusively, the ropes binding her arms and legs faded away, unneeded.)

She uncurled, and wrapped herself around them, burying her nose in their hair.

“M’sorry,” they mumbled. “M’so sorry.”

“Don’t be.” she carded her fingers through their hair. The ropes pressing into and around her torso likewise faded, and some of the clarity and adrenaline slipped from her system, leaving exhaustion in their wake. “Don’t ever apologize for taking care of yourself and giving yourself what you need.”

“S’sss scary though,” they slurred, struggling against their own exhaustion. “S’hard t’ask… even you.”

“I know.” Her eyes were getting heavy. “That’s why I didn’t wait for you to ask. I know you. Better than you know yourself sometimes.”

They chuckled into her neck. “All’ve th’... time….” They grew mysteriously heavier, in the way of a cat who has fallen asleep, or a very small child. The purr settled at last into normal exhaustion registers, no longer the desperate urge for protection or comfort.

Donna kept just enough of her cognizance to gently roll them off of her to her side, before slipping out of consciousness herself, drained entirely by the day’s exertions.

* * *

When she finally stirred, it was to the hazy feeling of being in the tub again, with a washcloth pressed gently to her cheek, and she found herself smiling before even fully waking up.

“I told you it was going to be difficult on you.” The voice nearby was theirs, but not theirs. She sighed and leaned into the wash cloth, the hand that wasn’t a hand, while the TARDIS gently eased away the aches from her body and the strain from her mind. She could feel the clamoring echo of all of the emotions from before being gently sorted, placed in where they were meant to be and processed with gentle touches, while the physical sensation of hands cleaning her from head to toe let her drift for just a while longer, safe and cared for.

“I did ask.” she mumbled into wet palms, while calloused thumbs gently swiped away a steady stream of tears leaking from her eyes.

“There now,” the TARDIS murmured, “you’re safe. It’s all over now, and as scary as it was while it was happening, you were safe the entire time.”

“I know.” Donna blinked against their thumbs, sniffling. “It was just… a lot, like you said it would be. It was intense. I don’t think I’ve ever felt quite so… present, yet detached.”

“You went rather deeply into subspace.” The TARDIS carded a hand through her hair. “It can be overwhelming the first time. I was monitoring your condition from the start, and was ready to stop things if it went too far.” 

“Subspace…” Donna repeated, softly. “...is it… weird that I kind of liked it?”

“Not at all. Many people find it freeing.”

“Freeing. Yeah. That’s a good word for it.”

“Are you alright?”

“Yeah.” she sighed, “thank you, for showing me.”

“Thank _you_ ,” the TARDIS’ projection of them smiled down at her, warm and affectionate, “For wanting to help. You did exactly what you needed to do, and you did wonderfully.”

Donna was quiet for a while, before opening her eyes again. “Don’t heal up the hickeys, okay?” she asked softly. “I’ll just… cover them up. I want to keep them for a little while, to remember.”

“Of course.” The TARDIS tipped her head back into the water, soaking her almost completely and holding her head just high enough to keep it from slipping under. “Rest, now. You need time to recover. Let me take care of you.”

And Donna exhaled, letting the TARDIS help her ease back down into a recovery sleep.

* * *

Their hands weren’t shaking.

The buttons of their shirt just weren’t cooperating, that was all.

It was just a session, like any of them. Just the TARDIS helping them sort through things when they were in no state to do it themself. 

They would go out to the console room in a little bit, or to the kitchen, and Donna would be leaning against the console or leaning over the table eating breakfast and very _distinctly_ unmarked, and they could stop feeling her under their hands or their _teeth_ or--

\--it was just a session.

Slim hands wrapped around theirs, pulling them away from the buttons, and slipped into the place they’d just been to do them up themself. There were no blemishes or markings on her skin, even now.

“It was a lot.” Her voice was soft, understanding. “You did it perfectly, even when it went in a direction you didn’t expect. You’ve nothing to be ashamed of, my Thief.”

“It’s so weird when you say that with her voice,” they mumbled. Which meant ‘I shouldn’t like it when you say that with her voice,’ and they both knew it.

_|| Would you prefer I say it like this? ||_

“Yes,” they said quickly, but … “No,” they admitted, pulling her close. She was remarkably close to Donna’s actual bone-cracking bear hugs. Close… but not quite. They’d have to go ask for one of the real things, if the real Donna would oblige. “It’s not bad, it’s just … strange. Like taking advantage. Or … forgetting you’re you and not her. That I’m not _really…_ ”

She squeezed. It wasn’t quite enough. “You’ll need to eat and replenish yourself. You went through a great deal.”

“I need to spoil Donna and make up for--” not the session, that wasn’t her, that was the TARDIS doing a particularly cunning imitation while they were at a low point-- “yesterday. Someplace delicious, it can be both at once. Ooh, maybe the Takashimaya Depachika! _Best_ desserts. She loves desserts. And I’ll eat a mountain of honey bananas.” 

Something to get the memory of telling someone who looked like Donna she tasted better than banana cake out of their brain.

The TARDIS’ imitation of her smiled, amused and fond, and brought a hand up to place against their jaw line. “See? Better already.”

They gave in and kissed her fingertips. It was fine as long as they kept things compartmentalized. They had heaps of practice, after all. “Thanks to you,” they said plainly. “It was a terrible amount to put on you, but whatever new trick you did--it was _potent._ I feel…” 

The Doctor groped for a word, and settled on, “Shriven.” It was the closest they could get to the strange feeling, like having shed a skin that was just a bit too tight around them. Absolution was a technical synonym.

They huffed softly. “You really do know me best of all, and there’s no point hiding it.” 

She laughed, pulling her hand away and quickly wrapping their tie back around their neck, twisting and tying it in a quick, familiar motion and smoothing their collar back in place. “You could say that. Go get food. It doesn’t have to be much before you take her out, but eat _something_. And have something to drink.”

“I will,” they promised. Tea and biscuits, that was the way. And some for Donna, too, they’d both be so distracted by the displays it’d take them forever to decide on _what_ to eat.

“Go take care of each other.” she nudged them gently toward the door.

And when they were gone, she smiled, and let the mental construct fade with a whisper.

“And I’ll take care of _both_ of you.”

**Author's Note:**

> Shibari research started with www.shibariacademy.com pics and basics course--VERY educational and super fun--but then Wren just kinda made some stuff up to suit. All mistakes theirs, do not try things based solely on this fic, TALK TO YOUR PARTNER BEFORE GETTING OUT THE ROPES. DO YOUR RESEARCH AND KNOW WHAT YOU’RE GETTING INTO. 
> 
> THE DOCTOR AND THE TARDIS ARE CHEATING PAST THE NEGOTIATION PHASE.
> 
> This chapter does NOT provide examples of adequate pre-scene Negotiation. Do not emulate without proper communication.
> 
> At no point in canon was the Doctor ever a role model for SENSE, and they especially aren’t HERE. Consensual, yes, but NOT safe or sane.
> 
> ...oh, and the [Takashimaya Depachika](https://www.vogue.com/article/tokyo-department-store-food-halls-depachika-guide) is a real place! It's one of the more famous department store food halls in Tokyo. Up to you if this is a far future one or not. XD


End file.
